


moving on, and other things you’d rather avoid

by desastrista



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Humor, Idiots with Feelings, Jealousy, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:39:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desastrista/pseuds/desastrista
Summary: After the events of Endgame, Sam has a lot on his mind. More than enough. So when he and Bucky attend a celebration in Wakanda and Sam learns that there’s a little more to Bucky and T’challa’s relationship than he knew, there’s no reason he should even think twice about it.He thinks about it a few more times than twice.(Or, the hardest part of moving on is realizing you’ve got a crush on your friend.)





	moving on, and other things you’d rather avoid

**Author's Note:**

> I started shipping both Sam/Bucky and T'challa/Bucky pretty hard after Civil War, but somehow never ended up writing a fic for either ship. Then Endgame comes along, and with it an excess of feelings, headcanons, everything. So this fic happened. I hope you enjoy!

It should be a pleasant drive. The sky is a clear, beautiful blue; the road is clear; even the radio is playing his favorite music. Bucky is there too, riding shotgun, and Sam wants that to annoy him just for old times sake. But he's just sitting quietly, looking out the passenger window, with the sun catching his hair. 

Maybe “pleasant” isn't the word Sam is looking for. The two of them are driving to a funeral. It should be a tranquil drive, maybe. A contemplative one.

But Sam's knuckles are white against the steering wheel, and he keeps trying and failing to roll the tension out of his shoulders. It's like his body is bracing for a fight his mind knows isn't coming.

“I gotta say,” Sam finally says, unsure if Bucky is listening or if he even wants Bucky to listen. “I know Stark saved half of all life everywhere. Including us. Or maybe he saved all existence everywhere. You know, something like that.”

Steve had filled them in on what they had missed since Thanos first came to Earth. Some of the details had been hazy. But one thing had been clear: Tony Stark had sacrificed himself to save the universe, and Sam and Bucky would be going to his funeral. Steve hadn't phrased that last part as a question, and there was no real reason it should be. 

“It’s just --” Sam sighs. “I'm still kinda pissed at him for sending me to underwater jail.”

It’s a petty thing to say. Sam knows it’s petty. He would never have breathed a word of it in front of Cap. Steve and Tony had apparently worked out their differences in the five years that Sam never saw. And now the day had been saved, Steve -- magnanimous, larger-than-life, frustratingly idealistic Steve -- had simply assumed Sam could and would do the same. 

But the memory of his fight with Stark is a little more raw for Sam. He’s had a harder time letting go of it. And while he's ashamed of that fact, it's also surprisingly easy to say out loud in front of Bucky. 

It helps that Bucky just makes a contemplative noise in response. Then, after a minute, he adds, “You know, he tried to kill me.” Another minute passes. “I did murder his parents, though. If I were him, I'd probably have wanted to kill me too.” 

It's all said very matter-of-fact. Bucky doesn't speak with self-pity, but rather an acceptance that Sam doesn't quite understand but also knows is not really his to understand. 

He's not sure what to say, so he just says the first thing on his mind. “If I recall, you tried to kill me too.” 

That earns a smirk. “Hey, that was mutual.” 

“For going toe-to-toe with an internationally renowned, top secret assassin, I think I did pretty well for myself.”

Bucky lets out an amused huff. “Whatever you say, Sam.”

They fall back into an easy silence. Stark built his family home far away from absolutely everything; they've been driving for a few hours already and still have a few more hours left. But Sam notices his grip isn't as tight on the steering wheel anymore, and without even realizing it he's started to tap his feet to the beat of the music. 

 

 

The funeral ends and, in the space of a few minutes, Steve goes back in time to return the Infinity Stones, grows old, retires, and chooses Sam to be his successor.

It all happens so fast. A week ago, Sam was just behind Steve on the list of Interpol's most wanted. A few days ago, he was fighting a terrifying alien horde. Then he fought them again, with a lot more success.

And now he is, somehow, Captain America.

It's a lot to process. But there's something else that gets to him. Sam is used to life changing fast. In the Air Force, they always told him that the difference between life and death could be one of mere milliseconds. But in the Air Force, everyone had the same number of milliseconds.

Not anymore.

The people who survived the snap had a memory of five years that Sam would never see. In the blink of his eye, Tony Stark had built a family and then lost everything. And now decades and one fateful decision to live a different life separated him from the Cap he had known only a few minutes ago.

In the midst of this insanity, it's a small, strange relief to him that at least he and Bucky are on the same timeline.

They're sitting alone by the lake. Steve and the Hulk have left to talk with the others. Sam turns to Bucky and asks, “Is it un-Captain America-like of me to say I'm glad we both got dusted?”

Bucky lets out a sharp, raspy laugh, and it take Sam by surprise and maybe Bucky too. “Possibly,” Bucky answers, a rueful tone in his voice. But then he smiles slightly. “However, as I am not Captain America, I can say the same thing without any guilt.” 

“Damn, you're right.” Sam mutters. He's still holding the shield. He hasn't stopped holding it since Cap handed it to him. It occurs to him that while he barely understands what just happened, he _really_ doesn't know what comes next.

“So the funeral is over. This thing --” He grips the shield tighter. “It's weighing on me. I feel like I have to fight crime. Is there even crime to fight?” 

“Now you sound like Steve,” Bucky nods. “But I think crime can wait at least another day or tow. Most people are probably still out celebrating half of all life on Earth coming back.” He considers for a moment. “T'challa did invite me to visit him in Wakanda. Apparently there's some kind of royal gala tonight.” 

“I never heard about this. He must not have invited -- wait, are you saying T'challa, the Black Panther, the King of Wakanda, a guy who is really into cats, personally invited you? And only you?”

“He's a normal amount into cats, for the record. And I highly doubt I'm the only person he invited. But yes, he invited me and now I am inviting you. Are you interested?”

Sam hesitates for a moment. It really feels like he should be doing something, anything. But he has no idea what that is. Maybe taking a few days off will help clear his head.

 

 

The end of the world is over, and Wakanda knows how to celebrate. The royal palace is lavishly decorated and full of the best and well-dressed floating around elegantly. 

Sam takes it all in, and thinks he and Bucky could have done a little more than just change into fresh shirts before arriving. 

If T'challa notices how out of place they both look, he says nothing, but greets them both warmly. “It is good to see you! The celebration has just gotten started. Although in truth it has been going a few days. For those who remember the last five years, there has been so little to celebrate until now. We need to give them time.”

“It feels a little strange to be celebrating when we just came from a funeral,” Sam admits. But he knows all about needing more time.

T'challa nods. “We honored our dead yesterday. Today is for the living. Come inside. Leave your troubles for tomorrow.”

He beckons them inside, even starts giving an informal tour. After a few minutes, Sam realizes it's entirely for his benefit. Bucky already knows this place from the time he's spent in Wakanda. Another few minutes, and T'challa and Bucky end up walking a few paces ahead or Sam and T'challa's slings an arm loosely around Bucky's shoulders. Sam drifts further and further behind, until he finds a small bar tucked into a corner and decides he's going to stay there until the world starts making a little more sense. He's halfway through his second drink when a Wakandan reveler comes up to him. 

“Are you an American ambassador?” The man is about middle-aged, and the tone with which he says 'Americans' implies he knows what they are in theory but not practice. “I've heard they like to dress casually.”

“Uh, I am an American. But I'm not an ambassador. I'm actually an internationally wanted fugitive.”

“Oh!” The man takes this in stride, even seems impressed. “Our king appears quite fond of those. Are you with Captain America? I recall him visiting here a few times.”

“Yes, actually. I am.” 

On more familiar grounds, the man smiles. “How is he doing these days?”

“Depending on your perspective, he retired either yesterday or sometime around thirty years ago. It's a long story.” 

The smile falters. “So you're saying there is no more Captain America?” 

“No, I'm him now. Got the shield and everything.” 

Somehow, _that's_ the sentence that earns Sam a confused stare. “But if you're Captain America, why on Earth did you say you were traveling with him?”

Sam doesn't have an answer for that. He just takes a long, tortured sip to finish his drink. The man moves on; Sam orders a refill. He's just started it when Shuri walks up to him.

“There you are! You are friends with the White Wolf, right?” 

Sam hesitates. “Is this some kind of Wakandan saying I'm supposed to understand?” he finally asks.

“You call him Barnes. Sergeant James. He tells me his middle name has fallen out of favor since he was born, and I told him that he clearly now lives in more enlightened times.”

“Oh. You mean Bucky?” Sam feels a fleeting sense of disappointment that Bucky never mentioned this nickname to him. But that's ridiculous. He should be focused instead on asking around to see how he could get an even cooler one. Not that it's a competition or anything.

“Yes, Bucky! He was looking for you. Said you just disappeared. I will tell him that you left because of crushing second-hand embarrassment.” 

That doesn't make a lot of sense to Sam. It feels like the gears in his mind might be turning more slowly than normal. It could be the drinks or it could just be that, in comparison to Shuri, his mind is always going to run slowly. “What do you mean?”

“You must have seen him and my brother together. T'challa can hardly keep his hands off the White Wolf. I'm not surprised you left. I would have left even earlier, but as the King's younger sister I have a sacred duty to collect as much blackmail on him as possible.”

The gears are definitely slowing down. He can't even blame it on the alcohol or Shuri. This is -- something else. 

“You're saying that T'challa and Bucky...,” he starts.

Shuri finishes the sentence on his behalf. “Oh, they spend many nights together. They have for a while now.”

And the gears have come to a halt. A faint sensation of unreality starts to settle on Sam, and he tries to swim towards more familiar shores. “You mean discussing strategy, right?”

Shuri's face lights up. “Is this some new American slang I haven't heard before? I'll have to add it to my list. It annoys my brother so much when I use innuendos to discuss his sexual behavior!” 

“No, it's not slang.” Sam answers weakly. “I'm just. Uh. Surprised.”

“My brother has many such companions, but I think he likes the White Wolf in particular. Probably because he knows he's not going to slip and accidentally call T'challa ‘my king’ in the middle of the night.” Shuri looks at him skeptically for a moment, but then realization slowly dawns on her. “Oh! I see why you are confused. Yes, everyone in Wakanda is always talking about how if we open ourselves up to the world, we must be more accepting of cross-cultural differences. In America polyamory is somewhat unusual, isn't it?”

“What? I mean...no. I guess it depends on who you are talking about in America, some people are more familiar than others -- but that's not really what I. Uh. Just -- Bucky? Really?”

Shuri nods knowingly. “Oh, so it is homophobia then. Yes, I have heard of that.” 

“I'm not homophobic.” It feels like Sam's already tenuous grasp of this conversation is weakening fast. “I'm actually bisexual. Admittedly, it's been a while since I've been on a real date with a guy, because the whole fugitive thing and even before that, really, the whole dating scene in DC --” 

Slowly, Sam realizes that he is standing in front of probably one of the smartest people on the planet and his mouth has taken on a life of its own. He stops himself. Takes a deep breath. 

“I guess I'm just surprised to hear about this,” he shrugs. “Usually, I'm, uh, pretty good at picking up on these things.” 

“If you say so,” Shuri says, with a tone of completely transparent disbelief. “As I said, they were looking for you. Go find them and you can see it with your own two eyes.” 

Sam replayed the last five minutes of conversation in his head. Then he imagined saying anything that he'd just said in front of T'challa. And Bucky. The laugh track inserted itself. 

“I'm good, thanks. I'll just stay here. It's a nice scene you and your family have got going on.” 

He leans back against the bar, trying to look casual and no doubt failing miserably. He worries for a minute that Shuri won't get the hint, but from the way she nods and wishes him well before leaving, she likely understood him even better than he'd hoped.

 

 

Sam does not show up for the rest of the party. It doesn't worry T'challa, who simply assumes something or someone else at the Palace caught his fancy. Bucky isn't quite sure why it bothers him that Sam left, but when Shuri reports that she found Sam and that he was “completely mortified by their conduct”, Bucky at least assures himself that Sam is not in any kind of mortal danger and can take care of himself. 

T'challa makes the usual rounds. There's plenty of well-wishers, and T'challa takes the time to thank them all. But there is the occasional person who approaches him to discuss matters either domestic or international. T'challa listens to them politely for a minute or so, then says he will hear them out fully tomorrow but suggests that tonight they enjoy themselves. 

It's a delicate balancing act, being a hero and still staying human. Bucky imagines he would be pretty bad at it. Steve definitely was. It was always all or nothing with Steve, which might explain why Bucky once had all of Steve and now has nothing of him.

But tonight is not the night to dwell on these thoughts, and when the hour gets late enough that T'challa takes him back to his personal quarters it's not like Bucky is going to be doing much thinking anyway. He loses himself in the feel of T'challa's lips against his own, the other man's hands on his skin, the feel of his cock inside him. When they're done, they lie tangled up in each other. Bucky's about to fall asleep and perhaps T'challa even thought he had, because he slowly gets up and stands in front of the window overlooking the city. 

Bucky walks slowly up behind him, leaves a kiss on his shoulder. “You should be asleep.”

“For years, I saw this view every day and I started to think it would last forever. Then one madman falls from the sky, and I almost lost it forever.”

“We still won in the end.”

“But only after losing first. Do you know why in Wakanda we still decide our ruler by combat? The reason is simple: because a king cannot lose, not even once.” 

“Can a king not sleep, either?”

That at least gets a smile, or at least the start of one, from T'challa. “You make a good point. But if I sleep now, in the morning, will you still be here?”

Bucky scrunches his brow. He's never been one to slink off in the middle of the night, but then again T'challa has never been one to worry about it either. T'challa has a large heart, but he gives so much of it to his country and others that Bucky was never going to have more than a sliver. And that’s alright. T’challa is never going to grab hold of a moving helicopter for Bucky or search the world to find him. Bucky’s already had and lost a love like that. It’s not what he needs now. 

“Maybe not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow morning. But sometime soon. The war has come for you, Bucky Barnes. I don’t think you’ll be content to stay idle in Wakanda much longer.” 

“Was it that obvious?” Bucky sighs. T’challa waits. “Steve retired,” he explains. “Sam is going to be the new Captain America.” 

T’challa still doesn’t say anything. Waits for him to complete his thought. It’s uncanny, how he can read silence as easily as words. 

“And I think Sam’s been so worried about being the next Steve, he hasn’t thought about who is going to be the next Sam.” Bucky doesn’t say the rest, but it's obvious. 

T'challa nods. “We’ll keep the plot you tended. In case you ever decide you want to come back. But I have a feeling it might be a while.” 

 

 

It is the middle of the night and Sam is wide awake and staring at the beautifully painted Wakandan palace guest rooms. Distantly, he thinks by now he may have every brushstroke of this ceiling memorized.

Sleep feels like an impossibility. 

That’s not particularly surprising. There is so much racing through his head. 

For example: Steve isn’t perfect. Sam’s spent too much time with him these past few months to labor under that delusion. But at the same time, his faith in Captain America has never wavered. Up until the very last minute of that first battle, he'd been confident that Cap would come through and save the day. Even about to lose everything, Captain America appeared invincible. 

But Sam is Captain America now, and Sam feels very vincible. 

Also: there's nothing like being wide awake at 3 AM wondering if “vincible” is actually a word to make you feel small. 

Also: why hadn't Bucky said anything about T'challa before? And why -- with everything else Sam could be worrying about -- can't he stop thinking about it?

He tries to map the emotions onto familiar terrain. Surprise. He was being honest with Shuri and his reaction is a totally normal and proportional reaction to learning something new about Bucky's personal life. 

Sam's too honest to lie to himself like that. Surprise isn't the kind of emotion that gnaws on you in the middle of the night when you should be sleeping. 

Sam rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands. He knows what he's feeling. He just doesn't like it. 

Jealousy. 

He's jealous. And even more than that: he knows who he’s jealous of. Because while T’challa is handsome (and loaded), Sam’s mind keeps going back to that car ride together and how the light had looked in Bucky's hair. 

It’s very late, Sam can’t stop thinking about Bucky, and he feels very vincible indeed. 

 

 

The next morning, T’challa apparently ordered a royal breakfast spread for the three of them to eat together and then promptly been called away on some political errand. Bucky explains this all to Sam as he walks in before concluding, “Wow, you look terrible.” 

Sam wishes he could return the insult, but Bucky actually looks well-rested and has the satisfied air of a man who got laid last night. Having nothing to say, Sam just sits down heavily and reaches for the nearest handful of fruit on the table. 

It’s probably the lack of a witty retort rather than the dark bags under his eyes that prompts Bucky to ask, “Everything alright?” 

“Yeah,” he answers offhand. And then, a deep sigh. “Actually, no.” 

There’s a long silence. Probably both of them testing these strange new waters where they talk candidly to each other. 

“Do you think Steve might have made a mistake?” Sam finally asks with a heavy sigh. “I know, I mean, it sounds crazy.”

"I grew up with him, believe me when I say it doesn't sound that crazy." Bucky snorts. "But recently? No."

Sam stares at the other man. There's something he has to know. “When he went back in time -- did you know he was going to do that?” 

The corner of Bucky’s lips curl upwards, but it’s too jagged to really be a smile. “I didn’t know, not really. I’m not even sure he really knew before he did it. It would be more his style, to just decide when the opportunity presented itself. But some part of me knew that if he got the chance, he would." 

He shrugs, and Sam wonders how many years of history between them were just summed up by that one motion. “If you had the chance to go back in time --” he starts. 

"I wouldn't stay, no. I saw more of the 20th century than Steve did. It’s nothing that concrete, just flashes, but what I do remember isn’t worth revisiting.” There’s a flatness in his voice as he talks, and Sam knows -- he thinks both of them know -- that there are some doors better left unopened. 

“I had no idea he wasn’t going to come back.” Sam exhales softly. “Or -- how he would come back, I should say. And then even after that --” It’s Sam’s time to try and twist his mouth into a smile. It doesn’t work. “When I asked if you thought Steve made a mistake, I was also asking about that decision of his.” 

“You mean, asking you to be Captain America.” 

It sounds simple when Bucky says it. Sam wonders why it sounds so much worse in his head. “Until I met Cap, I was just an ordinary pararescue jumper. No one ever gave me any secret serum to fight Nazis.” 

“I used to have to step in to stop Steve from getting his ass kicked in back alleys. Trust me when I say it wasn’t the serum that made him Captain America.” 

Neither of them speaks for a minute. Sam tries to think of any more objections he could raise. It feels like he has a thousand doubts, all of them shifting and nameless. And yet Bucky sounds so confident. Finally, Sam asks, “Do you really think I can do it?” 

Bucky snorts. “Not alone, no.” 

“Is that an offer or an insult?” Sam tries to raise a single, skeptical eyebrow, but he also can't stop himself from smiling. 

“Maybe a little of both.” 

Sam remembers one part of the reason he slept so poorly last night, and his smile falters. “Are you sure that you don’t want to stay in Wakanda?” he asks, suddenly serious. 

Bucky doesn't seem to understand. "I don't like farming that much," he shrugs. 

Unbidden, Shuri’s voice comes to mind. _”Is this some new American slang I haven't heard before?”_

“I meant, staying with T’challa,” Sam clarifies, feeling like a man on a lifeboat propelling himself further out to sea. It does not help that Bucky continues to look confused, although Sam feels that's really usurpring _his_ role in this conversation. “Shuri told me everything yesterday. I know you never mentioned it before, but I respect your right to privacy.” 

“Oh, that.” Bucky says the last word with too much fondness for it to come across as callous, but it’s such a succinct summary of the relationship that Sam feels a little stupid for bringing it up now. “Is that why Shuri referred to you as 'mortified’ yesterday?” 

At this exact moment in time, Sam would have rather fought Thanos and his entire invading army by himself than continue the conversation. 

Steve probably felt like that all the time. It explains some things about him. 

“No, no,” Sam replies, managing to convince neither Bucky nor himself. “It’s not that. It’s just -- I was surprised you didn’t mention it earlier, that’s all. It was a long flight to Wakanda. You had time.”

Bucky's expression is equal parts amused and skeptical. “Sam. Are you -- jealous?”

“No,” Sam says at once. As if Bucky is just being ridiculous. The lie comes more naturally this time. 

“Oh.” Bucky leans back in his chair. “Ok.” 

It occurs to Sam all at once that Bucky just now didn’t sound like a man who was about to make fun of his friend for a ridiculous crush. 

He actually sounded -- hopeful. 

But the moment has passed. Sam coughs. “Maybe we should head out. Don’t want to wear out our welcome.” 

 

 

They say goodbye to the Wakandan royal family and T’challa in particular. Bucky stays behind to talk with him in private, and Sam walks to the quinjet alone. He sits down in the pilot’s chair, but not before grabbing Steve’s shield from where he stored it. 

It’s his shield now. It might take a while for him to get that right, but it is still his shield now. 

He looks up when he feels a hand on his shoulder. Bucky's farewell took less time than he thought. 

“I’m serious about what I said,” Bucky says, looking down at him with the faintest trace of a smile. “It doesn’t matter what decade it is. Captain America shouldn’t be alone.” 

Bucky is right, but Sam’s not going to admit it. Instead, he moves his right hand up to trace the contours of Bucky’s own. It’s an idle, tender motion. 

Bucky gives a startled, pleased laugh. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters. “I knew you were jealous.” 

“Aw, shut up,” Sam grins wickedly and pulls Bucky close. It’s a confusion of lips and tongue as they kiss, and Sam is surprised and not surprised at all to learn that Bucky is an insistent kisser. It’s a few seconds before Sam has to break away for air, and he takes a moment just to look at Bucky. 

It’s a big confusing world out there, and Sam is walking in some intimidating footsteps. But he has Bucky by his side, and he’s glad for it.

**Author's Note:**

> If you ever want to talk MCU emotions, you can shout at me via desastrista.tumblr.com/ask or find me posting fewer shitposts at desastrista.dreamwidth.org


End file.
